Upon Your Shoulders
by hauntedlittledoll
Summary: Title taken from "Hey Jude" by the Beatles.  Tag for Episode 5x13, "The Song Remains the Same" in which unconscious angels are cared for, because Castiel deserves better than being slung across the bed like that.


"Okay, that's seriously starting to freak me out." Dean abruptly shoved himself away from the table.

"What-wait . . . oh." Sam watched his brother go over to the angel who hadn't stirred from where they dropped him at the foot of the bed an hour ago. "Yeah, that really can't be comfortable."

Dean grunted, and shook Castiel's shoulder. "Rise and shine, Cas. That's a church song, right? Something about _singing glory-glory_ and _God_ . . . it sounds like an angelic line of work to me." No response.

"Try slapping him . . . gently," Sam tagged onto the end, knowing his brother.

"I decked the guy a few months ago and he didn't even feel it, Sam. I, however, just about broke every bone in my hand."

"Well, he wasn't losing powers left and right back then," Sam reasoned. "And he definitely wasn't spending time unconscious. Maybe he's human enough for it to work now."

"And maybe it'll be like hitting a cement wall," Dean retorted. "I'll try water."

"Not the-" Sam winced as he spoke too late. Dean had already dumped the glass on the nightstand over Castiel's face; the angel didn't even stir. That was somewhat disquieting. "What if he doesn't wake up, Dean?"

"He woke up last time," Dean pointed out.

"But it's getting worse, and it's all my-"

"Don't even start that again, Sammy. Cas will pitch a fit if he finds out . . . or, ok, well, at least he'll act all moody and disappointed. And then I've got two broody bitches to babysit."

"Jerk." Sam moved towards the bed, leaning against the wall. "How can he sleep like that?"

"Angels don't sleep, Sammy," Dean grunted, pulling at a dress shoe that hasn't left the foot in question in a year. He had given up on the knots, because the weather around the world has eroded them into a mass of fiber that he'd need a knife to get through. He just yanked futilely at the shoe.

"Yeah, well, they don't go unconscious either," Sam shot back. Flipping open a pocket knife, he crouches beside his brother and begins sawing at the laces. "We'll need to get him new shoes."

"Just the laces," Dean shrugged dismissively.

"You really think these are going to cut it for someone in our line of work without the heavenly dry-cleaning? He can't even heal himself, Dean, let alone take care of the bloodstains on his coat. I'm thinking it might be time for boots, jeans, and a rifle."

Dean stilled. "No. Not yet. Not unless we have to." His older brother's voice was distant, troubled, and Sam didn't want to reopen any old wounds. Not today. Not after what they've just been through.

"Well," and Sam's voice sounded just as distant to his own ears. "Let's at least get him out of the trench coat."

Dean nodded. Working in tandem, the brothers eased the unconscious angel out of the trench coat, suit coat, shoes, and Dean even went after the tie.

Now Castiel looks like Jimmy.

It obviously bothers Dean as much as it does Sam if his brother's scowl is anything to go by. Sam pretended not to see it. "Heck with it," Dean growled and started in on the buttons of the dress shirt. "Grab some sweats out of my bag."

"They'll be too big," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, well, yours will be freaking huge," Dean retorted.

Shaking his head, Sam just did as he was told. This should be awkward, but he's put a drunken or injured Dean to bed before, and Dean's done the same for him. Castiel was getting absorbed into their family whether he liked it or not.

That doesn't mean the task is easy. Castiel isn't that heavy, but he's completely limp. Trying to get a t-shirt over his head and arms simultaneously is like trying to dress a doll made out of spaghetti. It takes both brothers to hold the angel up, and both brothers to coordinate the act of dressing. There's more swearing than should probably occur less than a foot from an angel of the Lord, but they managed.

"Let's get him comfortable," Sam suggested, and Dean has already started moving. Doing something is always preferable to watching uselessly. They dragged Castiel the rest of the way up the bed, before the angel stiffens in their grasp.

"Dea'? 'am?"

"Now he wakes up," Dean growled, dropping the angel's shoulders. Sam released Castiel's feet with a little more care. "Go freaking figure."

"Dean."

"Yeah, we're here, Cas," Dean sighed, leaning heavily against the bed.

"This is very uncomfortable," Castiel observed.

"Yeah, that's why we're trying to fix it," Dean bitched, straightening Castiel's arms. "Now how do you want to sleep?"

"I do not require-"

"Believe us, it's required," Dean ordered, pushing the angel back down. "If you don't like sleeping on your back, roll over."

"But I do not-"

"Have an option," Dean finished over him. "Welcome to Virtual Humanity 101. Sleep now, food in the morning."

"Just try it, Cas," Sam added softly, countering Dean's wise-cracking orders with his gentle reassuring-the-victims-voice. "Roll over, and try to go to sleep." Placating now, and even gentler, "If it doesn't work and you're still awake ten minutes from now, we'll try standing."

"And fainting," Dean grumbled.

Sam shot him a glare, and Dean shut up. "Please try, Castiel?" Sam repeated.

"I do not believe this will work," Castiel sighed heavily, but made the attempt at turning over anyway. Braced on his elbows for a shaky moment, Castiel fell face-first into the pillow with a helpful nudge from Dean.

Rolling his eyes, Dean adjusted Castiel's face to the side so he could breathe and Sam shook out a blanket from the motel room's closet rather than disturb the angel for the covers underneath him. Castiel suffered the awkward tucking-in process, watching them through blank blue eyes. Blank or not, they still track the movement when the Winchesters step back, finally satisfied with their guardian angel's condition.

"I am to try sleeping now?"

"You betcha," Dean tossed over his shoulder, already digging through his duffle for Chuck's latest work.

"How?"

"Oh for goodness' sake," Dean groaned. Toeing off his own shoes and muttering disparaging remarks about angels all the while, he collapsed on the other side of the bed next to the angel. Castiel hissed with the movement, and Sam reached out to steady him. "Quit being a bunch of girls," Dean complained. "Go figure out what's going on in Missouri, Sam. I'll deal with Sleeping Beauty."

"I _do _understand that reference," Castiel pointed out.

"Good," Dean shot back. "Now listen up, I happen to have a PhD in sleeping."

"They do not give degrees in noc-"

"Number one, stop thinking," Dean interrupted. "No thoughts allowed. Now close your eyes," he ordered. "Breathe slowly, and try to relax. Sleep will come once you're quiet and comfortable."

"No thinking," Castiel repeats irritably, his eyes closed, following all of Dean's orders but one. "I am not falling asleep. How does one not think?"

"Dean should have a PhD in that too," Sam grinned over the laptop.

"Shut up, Geek-boy," Dean growled, thumbing through the book. "Just relax and hush, Cas. We all lived through this. The Apocalypse can wait for next week."

"I'm sorry."

Dean threw the book down on the bed. "This had better be really good, or I'm going to gag you with your own tie," he warned the angel. "What on earth do you have to be sorry for?"

"I changed too late. And now I could not help you when you needed it." Castiel's eyes were still closed, as he tried obediently to follow Dean's orders. "I should have been there."

"Didn't miss much," Dean scoffed.

"I wished to meet your parents," Castiel confided.

Dean stilled. Sam watched him out of the corner of his eye, pretending to be absorbed in the computer. Finally, Dean replied, "For the record, I wish you could have. My mom would have liked you."

"Do you think so?" Castiel opened his eyes.

"She always said that angels were watching over me," Dean shrugged. "Now shut up and go to sleep, Cas."

Castiel closed his eyes again. Sam grinned to himself and clicked play. The sound of the Beatles filtered out of the laptop speakers, and Dean fixed him with his best glare. Sam returned his most innocent little brother expression.

"Dude, I'm not singing," Dean warned, returning to his book.

Sam shrugged and went back to researching mysterious deaths in Missouri. By the time the fifteenth "nah nah nah" played, Dean was humming absently as he read. If Castiel wasn't sleeping, he was at least resting quietly.

Considering everything, Sam counted it as a win.


End file.
